I look around and see the teeming masses,
They are like me, each one is a unique piece of art,

And yet they seem to hide,
And yet they seem to cover up their individuality.

Each of us is totally unique and cannot be made again,
Why then do I see so many people lying to themselves?

I clench my fist in anger, I focus all the rage there,
I feel something strange, I open my hand,

I see an irridescent butterfly with folded wings of purple, silver, and gold,
It spreads its wings and light fills the room in which I stand.

Do you think they can see it,
Do you think they will be able to spread their wings and fly?

02/01/2004